


Palm to Palm

by terrys_chocklit_orange



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terrys_chocklit_orange/pseuds/terrys_chocklit_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short missing scene from episode 4.03.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palm to Palm

_"And palm to palm is Holy Palmer's Kiss." Romeo and Juliet_

"It won't get any better if you keep trying to use it." Ivy cast an eye across the kitchen. Mr. Barrow had taken up Jimmy's tray, with bad grace, but Jimmy was still trying to lift things, experimentally picking up dishes and cups before wincing and setting them down at once.

"I can't be injured. They can't do without me." His voice was full of bravado, as usual, but beneath it lay genuine worry. Ivy could hear it. She sighed. His injury was silly, and entirely his own fault, but she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The stunt with the jam was something one of her brothers might have done, desperate to show off for everybody. To show off for her?

Ivy glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Patmore was resting in the next room, still yelling occasional orders through the doorway. Alfred and Daisy were bent over the stove, their heads close together, paying no mind to anything else. The brunt of the work was done, for now, and Ivy left her mixing bowl on the counter.

"Here." She walked to the sink. Bending, she pulled out the box they kept beneath it, a battered old tin contraption, reminiscent of the war. She pulled out a length of beige bandage and went over to Jimmy. "Give me your hand." He looked at her, scepticism on his face.

"It'll make me better?"

"It's not a miracle cure, Jimmy. But it will help." She'd done it for her brothers enough times to know.

She took his hand in his and gently wrapped it, ignoring his scowls and sharp intakes of breath. His skin was soft where it brushed against hers, delicate and white compared to her work-reddened hands. It was embarrassing, a little, and she wished, not for the first time, that she could be something a little better—a ladies' maid or even a nanny—something a bit higher up the chain and a little more likely to attract the attention of a handsome, elegant man like Jimmy.

"Don't go trying to move furniture or anything," she said, briskly, tying off the bandage. "You need to rest. But you'll be fine." She was about to move her hands away when Jimmy reached out with his other one, catching her right hand in his.

All at once, Ivy thought of the theatre. It had been a wonderful day, magical even, one of the most exciting of her life. Jimmy had chatted to her, giving her every intimate detail of Phylllis Dare's life. Ivy didn't care about any of it, but she loved to hear him talk, loved the excitement in his voice and, most particularly, when he reached out and grabbed her arm as Miss Dare came onstage. They'd arrived back at Downton tired and happy, and Ivy had hoped, maybe, for a kiss. There had been none. Instead, Jimmy had looked at her awkwardly, said, "Thank you for coming," in a stiff, formal voice, like he was addressing one of the upstairs lot, and left her in the servants' hall.

Now, Jimmy said it again. "Thank you." His eyes caught hers. His voice was softer this time, and as Ivy watched, a small smile came to his face. "Thank you, Ivy. Truly."

Ivy could feel a blush rising in her face. She opened her mouth, only to have the shrill voice of Mrs. Patmore cut off her reply. "Ivy! Get back to work, unless you think that chicken's liable to grow hands and dress itself." Jimmy's hand squeezed, gently, then released her. Ivy went back to work, her heart soaring so high not even a dirty look from Mr. Carson, when he came back and found the carrots still stewing on the stove, could force it back to Earth.


End file.
